‘You know. Taking Perla and Kassandra to Jessie and Johnny’s for dinner.’
‘So you’re okay to do that, but not my parents’ fiftieth. Noted.’
‘That’s different. Perla doesn’t even know where Jessie lives.’
He turned away, radiating rancour.
‘… Liam, why aren’t you at work?’
‘I’ll go in a while.’
‘You’re already late. What’s going on?’
He shrugged. ‘Chelsea takes the piss and I deserve some respect. She needs to learn what happens if I’m not there – things fall apart.’
Another blow struck in the on-going battle of wills between Chelsea and Liam. Liam was resentful that he ran the Capel Street shop, while earning nothing like as much as Chelsea, who had the actual title ‘Manager’. Nell feared that Liam would get the push for being too much trouble. But he always assured her that Chelsea needed him too much.
She couldn’t worry about that now, though. Speed-reading the script, it was immediately clear that it was a complex proposition, with a lot of location changes. A device was needed to pull it all together, something clever like a rotating stage. Anxiety gnawed at her. It was hard to know in what direction she should push her design. Should she replicate what she’d done with Timer? Tricks with lighting and mirrors? Or did she challenge herself to try something she’d never tried before?
One voice was telling her that this was no time for risks. Another warned that she needed to show her range. Garr would know: he’d always been her best sounding board. She felt weirdly uncomfortable about Liam overhearing their conversation but she picked up her phone and defiantly talked within earshot.
Garr was certain. ‘They want you because they saw your work on Timer. Don’t try new stuff just for the sake of it.’
‘Okay.’ She was calmed. ‘That sits right with me. Thanks.’
She hung up, and Liam asked, ‘What did he say?’
‘Stick with what I’m good at.’
‘Really? You want to get typecast already?’
All of Nell’s certainty vanished. Maybe it would be better to press ahead with the rotating stage. That was different.
Ambitious, though. She could easily cock it up.
‘Hey, I think I’ll go for a bike ride this evening,’ he said.
‘But we’re going to –’
‘Yeah. But we’ll be away all weekend and I won’t get the chance again until next week. I need to do it, babe, for my head.’ This was the first time Nell had seen Liam actually sulking. But she couldn’t – or didn’t want to – waste scarce time and energy playing his new game. ‘Okay, Liam. Enjoy your cycle.’
THIRTY-SEVEN
Cara peeled off the latex gloves, threw them into the bin, then faced herself in the small mirror. Watery grey-black blobs pooled beneath her eyes. Maybe she needed to buy waterproof mascara. But doing that would mean admitting this had become an actual part of her life. With a cotton bud, she wiped away the stains, then repaired the patches in her foundation with dabs of concealer. A swig of mouthwash, which she swilled energetically: her worst fear was of someone smelling her.
Her chignon had come slightly asunder, so she added a few more clips and a blast of spray. Stashing her little bag in the cupboard, she took a final look, checking that her uniform was clean and neat, then stepped out into the narrow corridor in the hotel basement.
As always, there was no one to see her. Walking with purpose and faking a vague smile, she made her way back upstairs to the front desk. She’d been gone thirteen minutes.
‘You missed it,’ Madelyn said. ‘Mr Falconer is here.’
What? Where? He wasn’t due for another hour.
‘His meeting finished early. But it’s okay, Vihaan took him up.’
That wasn’t meant to happen. She would never abandon her post at a busy time. There was always a chance that a guest would arrive early, everyone knew that, but the urge had been too strong so she’d taken a risk.
Here was Vihaan now, with Ling. ‘Where were you?’
‘Upset tummy.’
‘Again?’ Madelyn said. ‘Oh.’
She, Vihaan and Ling regarded Cara. They seemed suspicious, or perhaps they were just worried.
‘Sorry,’ Cara said. ‘Just … So how was he?’ She knew Mr Falconer of old.
‘Complaining about the weather. It’s too sunny. He doesn’t come to Ireland for the sun.’ Some people would find fault with anything. Trying to box away her guilt, Cara got on with her morning.
Gabby had left her a voice-note. ‘Cara, meet me for a quick coffee at lunchtime! I hate my children. I need to rant.’
Her heart lifted in anticipation – then her mood veered off